


Simple Appendages

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Finger kink, Fingering, M/M, Pure Porn, handjobs, if that's a thing??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:09:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/733967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft has quite an attraction to Greg's fingers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simple Appendages

Fingers. Such small appendages, and so simple, yet so vital to our survival. Some long, some short, some terribly bony, and others that look swollen to the point of pain. The hands they're attached to can be dark, or pale, any colour, really. They can be thick-skinned or vascular, frail and shaky or strong and thick.

 

But no fingers, no matter how brilliant, compared to those of Gregory Lestrade. Just long enough to be proportionate to his hands, and thick enough to make his palms seem a bit small in comparison. Flexible, dexterous, and oh-so-talented.

 

There were many things his fingers could do. Shoot a gun with amazing accuracy, manage to finger-comb his hair into the perfect medley of messy and professional, dance up and down piano keys and elicit almost sinful sounds from the instrument. Though, to Mycroft Holmes, the greatest thing he could do with those fingers was something much simpler.

 

Greg had learned of Mycroft's interest in his fingers one night after a long, harrowing day at the Yard, when the pair was sitting in front of the telly watching some mindless program about the Cold War. Mycroft continuously called out inaccuracies, annoyed that the writers hadn't thought to consult anyone in the actual British government when speaking of Britain's role in the entire business. Though, if someone had asked, it would have been horrible publicity for him, so he settled for grumbling about it under his breath.

 

Greg was sitting opposite the government official, his fingers drumming on the coffee table as he became more and more tired, the narrator's deep voice beginning to lull him into a contented dreamlike state. His eyelids were becoming heavy, and he was just about to drift off when something caught his attention. Mycroft had stopped whinging about the program, and was instead transfixed by the DI's finger movements, which had slowed down by that time. He quirked an eyebrow at the government official, his eyes still half-closed as he watched Mycroft set the remote down on the table and...did he just lick his lips? Greg's heart sped up as he watched Mycroft's pupils dilate, and heard his breathing quicken. He debated with himself whether or not breaking the silence between them was a good idea, and finally decided in the affirmative.

 

"Myc?" he murmured, slowly sitting up (though not stopping his finger movements), "Something up?"

 

Mycroft froze, his tongue still poking out of the corner of his mouth. He quickly pulled it in, embarrassed. "Oh...nothing," he said quickly, his voice wavering slightly, "Just...watching, observing."

 

"Uh-huh," the DI said, slightly confused. "But..."

 

"But what?" the ginger asked, a little too quickly.

 

"Your pupils," Greg stated bluntly, lifting his previously-occupied hand up and pointing at Mycroft's dark grey eyes, which were now nearly completely obscured by his pupils. "They're dilated. You're....aroused?" The silver-haired man was confused; how in the hell could Mycroft possibly be aroused? He hadn't even been doing anything, really, other than...

 

"Oh." he breathed, feeling the metaphorical lightbulb switching on in his head. "My hands."

 

"What? No," Mycroft deflected, "I'm not aroused, I'm just tired."

 

"Being tired doesn't make your pupils dilate, Professor Science." Greg said triumphantly, "You're turned on by my hands," he chuckled, pointing a single long, thick finger at Mycroft.

 

"I...For god's sake," the ginger muttered, a blush rising in his neck, "Fine. I may be slightly aroused by your fingers."

 

_"Slightly?"_ the DI asked incredulously, "Mycroft. I can't see your fucking irises. You left slightly behind a looong time ago."

 

"Shut _up_." Mycroft scowled, his pupils beginning to shrink back to their original size as his arousal began to fade. "I am not aroused. Maybe I'm on drugs."

 

"Maybe you're a twat," the DI muttered, still grinning like the cat that had gotten the cream. He stood up slowly, moving towards his lover until he was looming over the government official. He leaned down and cupped a single, long finger underneath Mycroft's chin, tilting his head up. The ginger stared up at him, mouth slightly agape, before swallowing hard and making a conscious effort to not allow himself to become aroused, to not give his lover the satisfaction of knowing...

 

Oh.

 

"What are you-" Mycroft was cut off by a rounded fingertip pressing against his bottom lip, running back and forth across the smooth, soft skin. His eyes widened at Greg's smug expression, and his eyes narrow. "Bastard," he muttered, though not protesting as the fingertip moved over his small Cupid's bow. "I don't like your fingers."

 

"Liar," Greg murmured, gently stroking the underside of Mycroft's chin with his other hand. He leaned down until his lips were almost pressed against Mycroft's. The ginger's breath hitched, and he let out a most pitiful sound. "You love them, don't you? Long, thick, smooth. Moving all over you, and into you...deep...inside you," he whispered, his hot breath ghosting over his lover's mouth and nose. "That's what you want, isn't it?"

 

Mycroft shut his eyes and shuddered, then unconsciously licked his lips. "Isn't it?" the DI repeated, slipping the tip of his finger just inside Mycroft's mouth. The elder Holmes could take no more, and finally spluttered out an affirmative answer. "Knew it," Greg said triumphantly, reaching down to rub himself through his trousers (good god, he'd never thought he could get so hard off of this sort of thing). "What do you want?" he whispered, pressing a kiss to the corner of Mycroft's mouth.

 

"I...you....god," Mycroft was barely able to form a coherent sentence. Gregory Lestrade was the only one, in his entire life, who had ever been able to render him completely and utterly speechless, and he both loved and despised that fact. His eyes snapped open in surprise as a thick, long finger slipped past his lips. "What are you-" his voice was stopped in his throat by Lestrade's finger, and he quickly fell silent, tilting his head back and relaxing his throat as it slipped further and further in. His cock was straining against his trousers by this time, and he was aching for relief. He tried to speak around the DI's finger, but to no avail. He could do nothing but sit there, still, while his mouth was being fucked by his lover's finger...oh, there were two now.

 

"You like this?" the DI murmured, using his other hand to unbutton and unzip his trousers, pushing his pants down just enough to allow his erection to spring free. He sighed with relief, then resumed fucking Mycroft's mouth with his fingers, making sure to hold his head in place as he did so.

 

Mycroft (who by this time was gratefully sucking on the DI's fingers with a fervor usually reserved for his cock) slipped his tongue between his lover's fingers, and reached out his left hand to run his fingers along the length of the DI's erection before closing his fist around it and stroking gently, feeling the warm, pulsing flesh beneath his own fingertips. He wished his own cock were getting this sort of attention, but it would happen in time, he told himself. For now, the feeling of Greg's thick, elegant fingers inside his mouth was enough to make him come untouched. He suspected the DI didn't truly know just how far the government official's obsession with his fingers went.

 

Ever since Mycroft had first met (er...kidnapped) the DI, he'd been fascinated by his fingers. Tanned, long, and impossibly thick for a man of his weight and size, Mycroft used the mental image of having them pushed up his arse as wanking fodder for years afterwards, and always made sure that whenever he met up with the DI, it was much too warm for gloves, so his magnificent fingers were guaranteed to be on display. Mycroft never thought he would be so enamored by a simple appendage such as the humble finger, but then again, many of his kinks had simply popped up without warning, so he couldn't be horribly surprised by this.

 

He managed to curl his tongue around the fingers inside his mouth, much like the way he would curl it 'round Greg's cock (which was currently leaking all over his expensive trousers; he'd have to have them cleaned later), and sucked hard, delighted at the moan it elicited from the DI. " _Fuck_!" Greg breathed, reluctantly withdrawing his fingers and reaching down to remove Mycroft's hand from his cock and replace it with his own. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!" he groaned as his hand quickly moved up and down the shaft, his thumb brushing over the moistened tip.

 

Mycroft watched as his lover pleasured himself, his own cock aching for attention. He clumsily unbuttoned his trousers, pushing both them and his pants down around his knees. He was finally able to give his own neglected cock a bit of attention, and hissed as his own slightly rough hand came into contact with the oversensitive skin. "Mm," he moaned as his fingers brushed against the head. "Oh, god..."

 

"Oi," Greg interrupted, pausing in his own wank to look down at his lover. "My job," he breathed, leaning forward and taking Mycroft's cock in hand. "Those _have_ to go," he chuckled, giving Mycroft's remaining clothes a nod, then kicking off his own trousers and pants before kneeling in front of the government official. Mycroft nodded, quickly shedding his trousers and pants, then leaned back and looked up at the DI through hooded eyes. "Gregory..." he swallowed, "What are you going to-"

 

"Shh," Greg interrupted, holding a finger to his lips (one of the fingers Mycroft had been sucking, the ginger noted), "You like them, don't you? My fingers."

 

"I do, yes, _yes_!" Mycroft practically cried, "Please, what are you going to-"

 

"Shh." the DI repeated, reaching down and fumbling around under the sofa for the lubricant. The pair usually had a tube in nearly every room of the flat (for convenience), and today was no exception. Finding the small bottle, the DI withdrew his hand and held it up triumphantly, and Mycroft blushed with both arousal and embarrassment. He leaned back and placed his hands behind himself, bracing them on the back of the sofa cushions.

 

Greg gave him a smirk, and squirted some of the lubricant into his hand, rubbing it between his chubby fingers to warm it. Mycroft sucked in a breath at the sight of the DI's fingers covered in the slick lube, and he felt his already-leaking cock twitch in anticipation. "Please," he murmured, taking his bottom lip between his teeth, "God, please.."

 

"Whatever you say," the DI replied, reaching down to press a fingertip against Mycroft's hole, massaging the puckered skin gently before sliding it all the way in, eliciting a sinfully deep moan from the government official. Mycroft bit down on his lip as Greg's finger nudged his prostate, and gasped as another warm hand wrapped around his neglected cock, stroking gently.

 

"Gregory-"

 

"Shh," Greg chuckled, slipping in a second finger and allowing Mycroft a second to adjust before scissoring them inside him, the thickness of his fingers stretching Mycroft to the brim. "Oh, _Christ_!" Mycroft exclaimed, throwing his head back, his sweaty curls sticking to his forehead. "Like that?" Greg breathed, marveling at the tightness currently surrounding his long, thick fingers. "Feels good?"

 

"Oh god, yes," Mycroft whispered, biting down hard on his lip. "Please..."

 

"Please what, this?" Greg scissored his fingers again, his chubby fingers brushing up against Mycroft's prostate, eliciting a soft yell from the government official. Mycroft spread his legs wantonly, adoring the attention his lover was giving him, his mind never leaving the fact that Greg's fingers, mere fingers, were causing him to come undone in the other man's hands. He felt the familiar fire building in his lower belly, and mewled loudly, slightly embarrassed at the noises leaving his lips. He didn't like to appear out of control in any situation, but this, oh, this. This was something he could let himself become immersed in, let himself lose control. The pressure against his prostate combined with the warm, soft hand running up and down his cock soon became far too much. It was pain and pleasure and everything in between, and it wasn't long before he was coming with a loud yell, clenching around the fingers inside him and spurting his release over his lover's hand and chest; it was the hardest orgasm he'd had in a long, long time.

 

After what seemed like forever, he was finally able to regain his sight and hearing, and opened his eyes slowly, only to see his lover's hand moving quickly over his own cock, searching for his own release. He found it several seconds later, shooting thick, hot, white ropes of come over his own fist and between Mycroft's legs, covering the ginger's already-spent cock and arse with the sticky substance.

 

He fell back on his arse, unable to stay on his knees any longer, panting. "Holy shit," he murmured, barely able to catch his breath, "That was...Shit, Myc."

 

"Oh, Gregory," Mycroft breathed in response, "How did you.."

 

"Talent," the silver-haired DI smirked, making a Herculean effort to roll onto his side and sit up, grinning at the other man. "Y'know, you could've just told me how much you liked my fingers." he chuckled, grabbing hold of Mycroft's hand and hoisting himself up onto the couch, ignoring the semen currently drying on both of them. "I would've indulged you."

 

"I know that now," Mycroft scowled, but with an amused gleam in his eyes.


End file.
